


another day older and deeper in debt

by herax



Category: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Cal Kestis, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26718577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herax/pseuds/herax
Summary: When a new rigger gets assigned to his crew, Prauf finds himself more concerned with the kid’s safety than he’d like to admit.
Relationships: Cal Kestis & Prauf
Comments: 14
Kudos: 136





	another day older and deeper in debt

**Author's Note:**

> So I slipped and fell back into the jfo pit... 
> 
> Set shortly after Order 66 (i.e. Cal is flashback-age) and written for the prompt of ‘hidden injury’.

It takes Prauf a while to warm up to the new rigger.

Nothing against Cal personally — he seems like a decent guy — but after years working side by side with Krik, Prauf feels his absence keenly when the guild swaps in someone new. It’s only temporary, an extra pair of hands while Krik recovers from a bad fall off a garbage scow, but Bracca isn’t exactly awash with bright spots and it hurts more than Prauf expected to lose one of the few he had.

It doesn’t help that Cal and Krik have very different styles. Going from a tall, gregarious gotal to a small, skittish human is a hell of a switch, if only because every time Prauf looks over, Cal’s head is about two feet lower than where he expects to see Krik’s. He’s small enough that Prauf thinks he’s a kid at first, but Cal promises he’s just short and Prauf doesn’t have the enthusiasm (or knowledge of human physiology) to argue.

He’s capable enough at his job though. Judging by the paths he takes around ships, he’s clearly still green but what he lacks in experience, he makes up for in sheer speed, scampering up walls and shimmying through cracks faster than Prauf can track him. He rarely speaks, just keeps his hood up and his head down, but he works hard, and Prauf finds that they’re clearing jobs at a respectable rate, even with a new cog in their machine.

However, even after weeks on their crew, Cal still doesn’t lose that nervous, hunted look about him. Prauf doesn’t know how to break it to him that no-one comes looking for things that are lost on Bracca.

The first time the mask slips is an accident in the truest sense of the word. 

Prauf’s deep in conversation with Sartuc over which droid is going to win the pit fight the next night — obviously it’s Tyrant but Sartuc’s all in on Wyvern for some half-baked reason — when he hears the screech of grinding metal above them. Sparks shower down past the torn edge of the ship they’re dismantling and Prauf catches the sound of a voice beneath the clatter of falling beams. 

“No, no, no-”

The voice gets louder, accompanied by the thump of a body rolling down the roof above them, and Prauf hopes he isn’t going to lose his arm when he lunges out to grab the person who tumbles off the edge. 

His hand closes around a skinny forearm and he sighs in relief when he catches Cal before he goes plummeting off the edge of the ship with the rest of the debris.

“Shit,” Sartuc breathes. “Nice catch, man.”

Prauf’s expecting a thanks from Cal as he hauls him back up to the safety of their platform but he frowns in concern when Cal just lets out a pained, breathless cry. His eyes are screwed shut in agony and he clutches at Prauf’s wrist until Prauf sets him on solid ground. 

“Cal?”

He drops to his knees as soon as Prauf lets go, holding his left arm to his chest and pulling in hitching breaths, and Prauf exchanges worried looks with Sartuc. 

“Cal?” he asks again. “You okay?”

Cal’s face is ashen but he nods. “Yes, sir.” He swipes at his face with his good hand, clearing any tears but leaving streaks of grease in his wake. “A cord snapped, I couldn’t-” He gulps. “Thanks, Prauf.”

“You hurt?” Prauf asks, crouching in front of him. He can’t see any injuries beyond a couple of scrapes but their dark uniforms are good at disguising blood stains. “Did something catch your arm?”

Cal blinks up at him, dazed, and still has his arm cradled to his chest as he lies, “No. No, I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Prauf says. Normally he’d just leave him to it — you need trust to work together here, and if Cal doesn’t trust him, he’s not going to force it — but he looks so damn _small_ huddled on the ground that Prauf can’t help but reach out. “Guess you won’t mind if I take a quick look then?”

He catches Cal’s wrist before he can protest, tugging his arm out and pushing his sleeve up. Cal bucks at the friction of the fabric and as soon as Prauf catches sight of his skin, he can see why. 

His forearm is bright red, the skin covered with blotches and blisters of barely-healed burns which curl almost the entire way around his arm. His makeshift bandages are torn and dislodged, either from the fall or from where Prauf grabbed him, and there’s an unsettling ring of bruises just above the line of his glove.

Behind them, Sartuc lets out a low whistle of sympathy. “Shit, that’s a bad burn, kid. What happened? Prauf let you go wandering into a lit engine or something?”

Cal tugs his arm away from Prauf’s grip in embarrassment and Prauf glances back. “Go find a med kit or something, will you?”

It comes out sharper than he intends and Sartuc holds his hands up in surrender. “All right, all right, I’m going.” He shakes his head. “Damn, I miss work for three days and you’re already setting your new riggers on fire.”

He departs and Prauf lowers his voice as he asks, “You wanna tell me how this happened? I know you like keeping to yourself and that’s fine, but I think I would’ve noticed if you got an injury like this on duty.”

“I-It’s nothing,” Cal stammers. “Just an open flame in a ship a couple of days ago. It was an accident.”

“Right,” Prauf says. “An accident where you get burns like that but the fire doesn’t leave a single mark on your sleeve?”

Cal presses his lips together but Prauf doesn’t miss the crease of pain between his brows as he struggles to push his dirty bandages back into place. 

“You need some bacta and a dressing,” Prauf points out. “Bandages like that are just going to make it worse.”

The thump of Sartuc’s boots are loud against the metal as he comes jogging back over and lobs the med kit at Prauf’s chest. “One of the foreman droids is sniffing around. I’ll head her off while you get him patched up. I’m not getting my pay docked for this.”

He exits again, and Prauf hears him launch a barrage of questions at the distant droid as he roots around in the kit for the right supplies. Cal is silent, still kneeling awkwardly beside him, and Prauf tries to dig for information as he coaxes Cal’s arm forward again and begins unwinding the soiled bandages.

“I don’t think I ever asked,” he says casually, “which sector do you live in?”

Cal winces as the last strip is pulled away. “Center North. Tenement C67.”

Prauf makes a non-committal noise. He doesn’t know the exact block but wouldn’t recommend the area as a great neighborhood.

Cal smiles a little. “That bad, huh?”

Prauf chuckles. “It’s Bracca, kid. ‘Bad’ is relative.” He smoothes the bacta gel over the skin, motioning for Cal to rotate his arm, and he looks again at the bruises marring his wrist as he asks, “It just you? Or you got friends in that sector?”

Cal’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Why?”

“Just making small talk,” Prauf lies. “I try to get to know the people on my crew.”

“I’m only here until your friend gets back, right?” Cal asks. “Orkas said one of your regular crew was injured.”

“Uh, yeah,” Prauf admits. “My buddy Krik took a bad fall. Should be another week before he’s back on his feet.”

Cal nods, absorbing the information, and Prauf tugs a little at the faint thread of information he’s been given, “Was Orkas the one who hooked you up with this job? I don’t recognise the name.”

He starts applying the dressing to the burn as Cal answers, “Yeah, he, uh- He knows a lot of people. He’s been helping me find work.”

Prauf’s eyes linger on the bruises again. “Sounds like a good guy.”

Cal nods fervently. “I owe him a lot.”

“Shame he couldn’t help you out with the burn. It helps having a second pair of hands with this kind of injury.”

Cal’s eyes lower and if Prauf wasn’t already convinced that Orkas had a hand in this, the flash of guilt across his face would be more than enough to win him over.

“He’s really busy,” Cal says weakly. “Anyway, it’s not that bad.”

It’s the worst burn Prauf’s seen in a couple of years but he decides against voicing that opinion. He knows he should just back off, let his temporary rigger make his own mistakes, but it’s like the bruises and the burn have triggered a siren in his head which just won’t shut up. 

Still, he puts on a smile as he straightens up and pats Cal on the shoulder. “Should heal up in no time. Maybe try not to fall off any other wrecks for a while though, huh?”

Cal blinks, surprised and relieved that the line of questioning isn’t continuing, and he gives Prauf a grateful nod. “Yes, sir. Thank you for the help.”

He scuttles off before Prauf can say anything more, tugging his sleeve back down and disappearing off into the bowels of the ship, and Prauf sighs as he hears the foreman droid approaching. 

He never had these problems with Krik.

———

He keeps an eye on Cal for a couple more days.

There’s no more sign of trouble at work — Cal just shows up and does his job every day as usual without any hint of further injury. However, given that his burned arm only got spotted because of a fall, this is less reassuring than Prauf would like. 

He’s starting to think he’s imagining it, that the burn was a legitimate accident and Cal really does just have a friend looking out for him, until it gets to payday. 

The guild store is bustling on Prauf’s journey home, with scrappers picking out the best drinks or food their meager wages can afford, and Prauf’s in the middle of loading up on chipitas when he spots Cal loitering by the cleaning products.

His brows are knitted together in concentration, three bottles of bleach and cleaning fluid already held in one skinny arm, and he jumps when Prauf taps him on the shoulder. 

“You okay there, kid?”

Cal nods, shifting the bottles in his arm, and Prauf gestures to them with a teasing smile. “Please don’t tell me your payday blowout’s being spent on this crap?”

Cal frowns. “This is what I’m supposed to get. I had a list.”

He holds up a scrap of paper and Prauf scans it, confused. “That’s a lot of stuff, kid. What about food?”

“Orkas buys the food,” Cal says. “He pays the rent too. I buy whatever else he- we need, and he takes care of the rest.”

Those warning sirens start chiming again. It’s a normal arrangement, he tells himself — Prauf’s had plenty of roommates over the years and they’ve always split bills and groceries — but the feeling of unease doesn’t leave him.

“Sounds like a fair trade,” Prauf says. “He a good cook?”

“I cook,” Cal says brightly. “I don’t think I’m very good but he works really hard. I need to help out.”

Prauf decides he dislikes Orkas.

“Sure,” he says, trying not to show it. “Are you the one who uses all this too?”

He gestures to the cleaning supplies which Cal clutches tighter in his arms. “I- Yes.” Suspicion creeps in as he explains, “I’m staying in his apartment — it’s my job to keep it clean.”

The words don’t sound like Cal’s own and the burble of anger in Prauf’s chest make him push further, “So you do all the cleaning, all the cooking, and give your friend the rest of your pay? Man, I hope he’s giving you the bigger bedroom for doing all that.”

Cal’s cheeks flush crimson and he sounds unbearably young when he stammers, “I- It’s nice there. It’s warm and I- I have blankets-”

“Just blankets?” Prauf asks. “No bed?”

From the way his jaw clenches, that’s a solid no but Cal turns away before Prauf can ask any more. “I need to get back.”

“Wait,” Prauf calls, jogging after him as Cal weaves his way through the crowds to pay for his supplies. “Kid, wait!”

Cal ignores him, pushing a handful of credits towards the checkout droid and making a beeline for the door. Abandoning his stack of chipitas, Prauf dashes out after him and cuts him off.

“Wait,” he says again, out of breath. “I’m just worried about you, kid. I know you said this guy was helping you but if you’re in a bad situation here-”

“I’m fine,” Cal says, almost petulant. “I just need to get back.”

“Is he gonna be mad if you’re late?”

It’s a shot in the dark but from the way Cal’s eyes snap up to his, it’s right on target.

“No,” Cal lies. “I have to-”

“Look, kid, if someone’s taking advantage of you, I can-”

“No-one’s taking advantage of me,” Cal says, firm enough that he seems to be convincing himself as much as Prauf. “Orkas helped me. When I cras- came here, I had nothing and he gave him food and shelter and even a job now. I owe him.” 

He looks exhausted when he adds, “I know you didn’t want me on your crew. Your friend will be back soon, then you won’t have to work with me any more. Just leave me alone, Prauf. Please.”

He turns to leave but Prauf blocks him one last time as he says, hands held up in surrender, “Okay. If that’s what you want, I won’t bother you anymore, I promise. Just answer one question first?”

Cal hesitates but nods. “What question?”

“That burn,” Prauf says, “and those bruises on your wrist. Was that him?”

Cal won’t look at him. “He helped me,” he says quietly. “I- I needed instruction.”

Cursing under his breath, Prauf crouches down until he’s at eye level. Cal flinches when he rests a hand on his shoulder, still clinging to his cleaning supplies like a lifeline, but he doesn’t try to run when Prauf meets his eyes.

“Listen, I don’t know much about you,” Prauf admits, “which I guess is what you wanted, and I can’t tell you what to do, but however much this guy helped you, he shouldn’t be hurting you like this.” He fumbles in his pocket for his notepad, scribbling his address and number on a page before slipping it into the pouch on Cal’s hip. “I know I’m just some other stranger but if you get stuck or have second thoughts, I’ll do my best to help, okay?”

Cal swallows hard. “I have to go.”

“I know,” Prauf says. “I won’t stop you.”

He backs off, giving Cal the space he needs to depart. He hurries away, not looking back as he flees, and Prauf leans against the wall with a sigh. 

Ultimately, he knows this isn’t his responsibility — there are a lot of people in a lot of trouble on Bracca and he can’t help all of them — but it’s hard to resist the urge to go over to Tenement C67 and break Orkas’ nose, just on principle.

He does resist though and as he heads back inside to lay claim to his chipitas, he really hopes this isn’t the last time he’ll see Cal in one piece.

———

Cal doesn’t show up to work the next day, or the day after.

Despite Sartuc’s complaints about unreliable workers, Prauf opts not to report the absence to the overseer; Cal’s got enough problems without adding the wrath of the guild to the mix. Instead he spends more of his evenings than he should scrolling through the medfeed and the crime reports from the troopers. 

He isn’t sure whether he’s looking for a patient or a corpse but comes up blank on both counts for anyone matching Cal’s description. He sleeps fitfully both nights, his dreams filled with images of a small broken body, and when he doesn’t find Cal at work on the third day either, he begins to resign himself to the fact that this is one more failure for Prauf to add to his list.

He stops off at the store again on his way home. It’s starting to rain when he makes it out with a fresh bottle of retsa in hand, and he trudges back through the emptying streets, trying to gauge how much he’ll need to drink to forget the kid ever existed.

That estimate goes up dramatically when he sees the kid in question curled up under an overhang opposite his building. 

“Cal?”

Cal’s head snaps up at the name and Prauf can’t keep from smiling in relief when he stumbles to his feet. He’s soaked through but very much still alive as he approaches with trepidation, a tiny bag of belongings clutched in one hand.

“Shit, kid, where did you go? I’ve been assuming the worst for days now.”

“I- I’m sorry,” Cal says and Prauf can’t tell whether the stammer’s more from nerves or the cold rain. God knows how long the kid’s been out here. “I s-should’ve listened to you.”

“About Orkas?” Worry ignites again and he moves closer through the rain to look Cal over. “Did he hurt you again?”

Cal’s headshake seems to be a reflex rather than a real answer but he pauses and then gives a tiny nod. “He was angry…”

He gestures vaguely to his throat and Prauf winces at the sight of more bruises laid over reddened ligature marks. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“You were right,” Cal murmurs, ashamed. “I was stupid, I just-” His breath hitches. “I didn’t have anyone and I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Prauf soothes, dropping to a knee in front of him, “you don’t need to be sorry. You made it out of there — that’s good.”

Cal shakes his head. “He burned the paper. I couldn’t remember your number and I didn’t know how to get here.”

“Well, you’re here now,” Prauf says. “You did good, kid.” Then, as calmly as possible in an effort not to alarm him, “Orkas doesn’t know this address, does he? And if he does, any chance he’s short and scrawny?”

“He’s a lasat,” Cal says, which puts him firmly in the ‘not short’ category, “but he doesn’t know I’m here. He didn’t read the address.” He sniffs a little, teeth chattering. “I don’t think he would come here anyway. H-He said he didn’t have a use for me if I wasn’t earning my keep.”

Lasat or not, Prauf would very much like to punch him.

“He sounds like a real asshole,” Prauf says with sympathy. “Look, I can’t promise my place is going to be any better but how about you come inside for now? Tomorrow I’ll talk to the guild rep about getting you your own place to stay.”

Cal looks up with wide eyes. “You can do that?”

“Sure,” Prauf says. “I mean, you gotta pay rent but with the casualty rate at the yard, there’s more than enough apartments to go around.”

“Orkas said-” He shakes his head, straightening up slightly. “Never mind.”

Prauf can hazard a guess at exactly what Orkas might have said to acquire his own live-in servant but he tamps down the anger that follows as he looks Cal over. 

“One more question, and I want the truth this time.”

Cal pales but he doesn’t exactly have any options other than to nod. “Yes, sir.”

“How old are you, kid?”

Cal looks down at his feet and Prauf nearly misses the whispered answer beneath the battering wind. “Fourteen, sir.”

Prauf sighs. That’s younger than he was prepared for.

“Okay.” He sighs again, standing back upright. “If anyone else asks, you’re at least eighteen, but okay.” He holds out a hand. “Let’s get you inside.”

Cal’s hand is cold when he reaches out to take Prauf’s. 

While he’s very glad the kid made it out alive, albeit not unscathed, Prauf can’t shake the feeling of unease as he leads him inside and out of the pouring rain. Cal’s safe with him, of course, but lurching from one stranger to another isn’t a reassuring approach, especially not for a vulnerable child on a planet with little regard for vulnerability or children.

Cal’s relief is palpable when Prauf shepherds him inside his cluttered apartment and even with his concerns about the kid’s continued safety, he opts to focus instead on the fact that Cal’s luck has changed. 

Sure, Prauf isn’t winning any employee of the year awards but at the very least, he can take care of one kid.

He’ll get Cal set up with an apartment and a job — he’s sure the overseer can be persuaded that Prauf’s crew needs two riggers rather than one — and then he’ll be as good as anyone can be on a dump like Bracca.

At the very least, he’ll be self-sufficient, and if Prauf does his job right, Cal won’t need to rely on any more strangers to save him in future.


End file.
